


Behind Alone, Forward Together

by twoshotrobot



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoshotrobot/pseuds/twoshotrobot
Summary: Mingi isn't worried about the expedition. God is with them in every step and Yunho is right beside him. Nothing can possibly go wrong.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi
Comments: 24
Kudos: 37





	1. Behind Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is different from my norm. it seems that sometimes the more i write, the less i have to say. i don't really want to indicate much aside from if i choose not to use archive warnings, it's often for a reason and it's deeply tied to the narrative.

Mingi rode behind the wagon on horseback. The gifting of the steed was still fresh, the lead pastor kissing both of their hands and willing God to guide them with ease and safety before leading them out to meet their horses. It was no small gift, but it was also no small mission.

He watched his party from the back. Up front, Jongho led the oxen. He had a practiced tenor that seemed to hold more promise than life as a trail guide, though Mingi reserved such thoughts to himself, not wanting to appear rude or out of touch.

Seonghwa rode beside Jongho. Through only the briefest of conversations with him, he gathered he wasn’t originally from the city by the slow lilt of his intonation and a funny way of hanging on the end of words. On their first meeting, his way of endearing himself to them was the offering of a sweet peach. He sliced the skin off with precision, cut it into neat slices to share amongst the four of them, though Mingi reckoned that was the touch needed to become a doctor.

Riding alongside the wagon to his right was Yunho, with whom in his delight he found himself staring at often, his gaze met and a smile returned that mirrored both the elation and the nerves. The half-decade they’d made each other’s acquaintance felt like a lifetime of brotherhood, brought together after Yunho’s father struck black gold on his humble farm and sent him off to the city to the junior seminary in which Mingi pursued his studies. Too miraculous to be written off as something so mundane as coincidence. It’s why he recognized every expression as if it were his own.

These were the men in his company, with whom he’d trust his life and, in return, he only asked for the same.

As exciting as the trip seemed in prospect, this was no diversion. Where they were going needed ministers, Yunho already ordained and Mingi to be upon arrival. Where they were going needed doctors. A polite society could not exist without modern medicine and God. 

Yunho had been the first choice, offered primarily and accepted it just as readily. There were two after who declined, their reasons their own. Mingi was offered the expedition fourth, initially a sting to his ego but he recognized that the gift came to him in the end after he’d prayed and prayed and prayed. He’d been heard, and deemed worthy. That was all that mattered.

The nerves were just that, born of novelty. God was with them in every step, he felt it surer than the beating of his heart.

Come dusk they made camp in a clearing after traveling for the length of the lit sky. Over the small fire, Jongho strung up a pot of coffee and let the grounds steep until it came to a boil. He poured a share for each in tin mugs.

Mingi thought he was bad with bitter flavors. He took a sip, the burnt coffee dragging his mouth down into a grimace, but he kept polite, forcing a smile and nodding gratefully as he sipped. Poor Seonghwa, though, couldn’t even pretend his senses were anything other than affronted.

“What’s the matter, Doctor? Never had a pioneer’s coffee?” He slapped Seonghwa’s back with a laugh kept bright with banter.

“Was never one for coffee even before this,” Seonghwa rasped after swallowing, a visible heave of his chest and stomach.

Sacrifices were natural. They were necessary. Mingi had grown with excess, living in fruitful times. The seminary provided all of their meals, fresh breads and fatty meats, occasional treats by way of pastries or confections when the local bakeries produced a surplus. They’d loaded themselves up on city food one final time, a grand meal on behalf of the church for the four of them to celebrate the expedition. That night’s supper was hardtack. Dull, stale and dry, Mingi had to suck and gnaw at the end of one of the crackers to scrape off a piece he could chew and swallow.

He already knew he'd miss his bed as he laid out canvas on the ground. He couldn't find a spot flat enough, not perfectly. He and Yunho shared the canvas, both turning often to find something poking into their sides, a tuft of grass or a hidden twig that kept them from finding a comfortable position.

He was the last awake, hearing the breathing around him gone heavy and the bodies gone still with sleep. His eyes stayed open, hoping to bore himself by tracing the shapes of leaves on bushes, lit only by moonlight and the soft glow of embers from their dying fire.

He saw both reflected briefly in the bushes, moon and embers bright on dark irises and black pupils. But Mingi blinked, and what he thought he saw was gone without even a stir in the bushes to indicate something had been scared off.

He closed his eyes and counted back from a thousand. Somewhere in the three hundreds, he drifted.

-

Breakfast was cured meat, the mouth-drying kind of salted that had Mingi pull from his canteen after every bite just to get it down.

Jongho set another pot full of coffee to liven up the party, cheerful in the face of their dour and sleepy demeanors. “Doctor.” He offered the first cup to Seonghwa who rolled his eyes, the joke having already gone smooth for him, but he accepted it all the same and with a soft spoken, ‘thank you’.

Yunho led that morning's prayer shortly after eating, Mingi following along with an, ‘amen’ when prompted with stretched pauses. He looked up, watching Jongho blow smoke from his pipe and Seonghwa's eyes steadily open and close as if at sleep’s door, his mug still nearly as full as when he’d first received it.

As much as he didn't care for hardtack, sucking on a piece he broke off kept his mouth and mind busy as they rode past an ocean of greenery as bushes, trees and grass all bled into each other with any moderate speed.

He found that, among them, he was the only one who God had forgotten to bestow the gift of song unto. Yunho always had a steady and full voice when he sang, teaching Jongho and Seonghwa hymns when the conversation grew dull.

Seonghwa repeated back first, a soft voice, slow and unsure, but matched pitch-for-pitch. Of course, there was Jongho, taking what Yunho fed to him and singing back his own interpretation with a competence as if he’d written the song himself. When eyes fell on Mingi to continue the round, he whistled in tune after a moment’s hesitation.

The sun was high as the trail cleared, brush and trees overhead sparse. They were thrust deep in the summer months, setting out when they did in hopes of narrowly avoiding the bite of winter, though that was just a compromise in exchange for the beating. They wore wide-brimmed hats to keep the backs of their necks shaded, but the heat caused sweat to be a sheet beneath their collars after so little as an hour exposed.

When their throats grew dry, they no longer sang or whistled, leaving that to the distant songbirds, the rhythm of hooves clapping the ground and an axle turning its croaking wheels until nightfall greeted them. With it, it brought reprieve.

Around the fire, Jongho poured whiskey into his coffee, offering some to the lot of them with only Seonghwa taking him up on it. He wasn’t a seasoned drinker, clear as his gentlemanly manner became exaggerated. His dialect thickened his words with breadth and flourishes in his drunkenness, commanding rapt attention. “-And they were gathered in the streets, their hysteria made spectacle in the town square, dancing until their bodies quit.” Amidst the peaks of intonation, he suddenly grew quiet. “Starving and exhausted, they fell where they stood, souls reclaimed by the Heavenly Father."

Mingi gulped louder than he’d intended, eyes falling on him. “Did they ever figure out the cause?”

Seonghwa shook his head, going for the coffee before chasing with the whiskey. “To this day, no. I’ve heard just about every theory on it that you can imagine.”

Mingi moved his spoon around his boiled oats, mulling over the possibilities. It caught a dried slice of apple he brought slowly to his mouth. To his side, he noticed Yunho looking at him and, when caught, he laughed and threw an arm around Mingi’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t tell him these kinds of stories. They terrify him.”

There was nothing but affection in the words, but Mingi clicked his teeth. Yes, he was superstitious, he could admit to that much. As boys, on the way home one late evening after the carnival, the oil in a row of street lamps had burnt out, the streets darkened and dead from all the activity concentrated elsewhere.

He'd drawn close to Yunho, clinging to his side. He remembered how he laughed so clearly and slipped his hand into Mingi’s to guide him forward. “You’re soft, Mingi.”

It was banter, nothing unusual between them, but there was a shame to be dressed down by a peer and friend he regarded so highly. Since then, he always felt he measured as less of a man, and being made the butt of the joke in front of accomplished men who laughed at the dig, he became aware that there was truth to it. Among them, he was the weakest link. He was soft.

After Seonghwa’s spirited regaling of medical anomalies, Yunho brightened the night with long winded and vulgar jokes he’d learned when he still tilled fields. Jongho’s entertainment came in the form of the individuals he met on his travels. At the more sordid, sexual stories, Mingi's ears warmed.

He stayed quiet, more eager to listen than speak, until merriment and laughter withdrew the last of their vigor for the night.

-

Tasks were a much welcomed diversion, stepping off of horseback bringing relief to strained and sore calves. In the morning, he was tasked to gather tinder, a dry spell in the days that past proved optimal. He bundled an armful together with twine and knelt by a stream to fill his canteen.

Bushes rustled, and such was cause for alert on a breezeless day. His eyes lifted and back stayed rigid in case it was a beast. He had a knife on him, kept it sheathed at his side, but he was unpracticed with it. Even then, he felt secure with his hand hovering on the handle until the rustling stopped.

Though the wariness shook him, stumbling forward some as he capped the canteen, the bundle tumbling from his arm and falling halfway in the shallows of the stream, wet at the ends. He shook out the drips, figuring the unusable could be hacked off and returned to camp.

Jongho fixed him with a look of scrutiny when he handed his bundle for appraisal. “It’s wet.”

“Just the ends.”

“It's soaked through, Mingi. We can’t use this.”

“Oh.”

Jongho was neither mean nor permissive, he simply didn’t care for the piano-wire walk of beating around the bush. He sighed, undid the twine and handed it back to Mingi. “Look for more. Completely dry, this time.”

In the afternoon, he and Seonghwa laid out fabric on a stump and sliced the servings of meat for supper. Mingi eyed the knifework, the doctor’s knife gliding with thin, even cuts. Mingi tried to mimic what he saw, but his wrist shook and the cuts went jagged.

“Like this,” Seonghwa called his eyes when he noticed the slice. Slowly, he demonstrated a cut, though Mingi’s hands remained unsteady and was stopped with a hand catching his wrist. “Why don’t you wash the rice? I can cut this.”

He felt his most useful listening well and doing what was asked of him. Every failed task a small, raw pain but even the smallest successes and most subdued expressions of praise filled him with warmth and purpose.

Come evening, he was asked to lead the prayer prior to their meal. He fumbled slowly with his words, and in the break between passages, Yunho picked up where he left off and ushered in the closing lines with fervor.

To know such a man made him feel as awed as he did inadequate. With a nod to prompt him, Mingi followed with an, “Amen.”

The only way Seonghwa could stand the coffee was after a few swigs of whiskey. He and Jongho had developed enough of a bond where he was permitted to drink straight from the flask, and after just a couple of pulls he was talkative. “What were you two studying in the seminary?”

“I was ordained last year,” Yunho said. “The seminary is part of a larger church, and I was acting as junior pastor under the mentorship of the main pastor himself for a few months.”

“Sounded like you had a good lot. Why’d you decide to join this expedition?”

“You know, it’s rare when an opportunity like this one presents itself, and I felt it, the Lord’s words boiling within me, telling me, ‘go, and learn, and grow’. I had to. It wasn't an option, it’s His path for me. What about you, Doctor?"

"It wasn't the first time I've uprooted." When he took a sip of coffee, his grimace was less severe and he was able to swallow down without the theatrics. "And I thought, if I didn't do it, who would?" Mingi had still been eating when Seonghwa addressed him. "And you, Mingi?"

Yunho, in part. He didn't say it, it was just the first thing that came to mind. He took the time to finish chewing to come up with his answer. Finally, when one that was both the right mix of satisfactory and truthful came, he swallowed. "I'd stagnated in my studies-"

"He slacked off," Yunho ribbed. "You'd sooner find the Devil himself repenting than find Mingi's nose in a book."

"Whatever the case,” Mingi brought the attention back to himself. “I knew I wasn't in the place I was meant to be. And it was the same, it's my path. I know this as an absolute truth." Yunho had a smile that brightened dark skies, one that no matter how often Mingi had seen it, he never grew accustomed. When directed at him, Mingi found himself smiling in turn. “What?”

“Just thinking how His path led us together yet again.”

He felt the small, wary smile grow with flattery. “You will not get rid of me so easily, Jung Yunho.”

In their aside, Jongho and Seonghwa dismissed their exchange entirely and talked quietly amongst themselves, laughing with the flask passed back and forth between them.

-

Meager rationing meant hunger was a constant gnaw as his body adjusted to the deficit. It wasn't real hunger, he knew, as he'd seen the have-nots and the ill on death's door like bones and sinew in the taut fabric of skin. But longing and nostalgia nagged him with every bite of plain rice. He missed warm, fresh bread. He missed butter and milk. He missed confections, like the sugar syrup on pastries or the hard candy he'd store in his cheek secretly throughout classes, flavored with fruit juices or caramelized sugar.

He sucked on a broken piece of hardtack, unsure why it sweetened a bit when it stayed so long in his mouth, but he attributed it to a small mercy as he hung a set of clothing to dry in the warm breeze with the sun still up.

Noontime sun was the Devil, days of sweat buildup beneath their shirts soaked through by the early afternoons. They'd gotten so consistently damp that they couldn't put off the washing any longer. Mingi stayed in shade, stripped down to a change in undergarments so as to not expose himself to the sun for too long when he had to step out and swat critters away from their clothing.

He heard a noise from the bushes, a high pitched giggle. A man's voice, though soft. He looked to whence it came, the leaves stilled save for a breeze causing a gentle sway of them. He thought it was one of Yunho’s tricks, the kind of harmless fun that entertained him knowing Mingi was easily riled by such things.

He put on a brave face, pretending to ignore it so as to not give Yunho the satisfaction. Then another laugh, louder and clearer. It certainly didn’t sound like Yunho’s voice, and he’d never been good at mimicry. Uneasy, he decided to stand, using his size to intimidate in case he did have unexpected company. He pretended to shoo fruit flies from the clothing suspended on branches and glanced around, the bushes still.

Of course, he was terrified of the possibilities, of the wild beasts that could tear his flesh clean off his bones in a return to nature, though not one he envisioned for himself and certainly not one he wished to expedite. But it was laughter, plain and simple, he trusted his ears on that one. 

It seemed his small act of intimidation worked, because no sound followed, and he was able to sit, chew his hardtack and watched the bushes with his knife pulled halfway from its sheath in case the company wasn’t favorable.

Though things remained quiet, no laughter followed and warmth and time dried the clothing. He returned with the cleaned bundle, discovering Seonghwa found wild fennel. They flavored a soup with it, along with boiling the bones and meat of a fish Jongho caught in his net.

Mingi joined Seonghwa and Jongho by the fire after storing the cleaned bundle in the wagon. "Are there travelers that pass through this route often?"

"They'd make themselves known to us if there were."

"Always?"

Jongho nodded. "If there were fellow travelers, it'd be in their best interest to group together with us."

Mingi hesitated. "And bandits?"

"Well, that's always possible. Why?"

"Just heard someone earlier today and it didn't sound like any of you. Felt like it was watching me from the bushes."

"If you were alone and you're still here in one piece, I wouldn't worry. Before you'd even know what was going on they'd have cut your head clean off and-"

"You know," Seonghwa cut in just when Mingi was really starting to feel uneasy. "Some birds can mimic human sounds. Maybe you came across one of those."

It was a placating suggestion, Mingi knew, but that along with the billowing steam of their most hearty meal in days was effective. Jongho was probably right, he wouldn't be there to join them if it were bandits. But he also could do without birds making a mockery of him.

-

Sleep came like a lapse, exhausting days and aching joints put him down as soon as he laid his head until dawn made their company again. 

They'd set off while the mornings were still cool, the sun a right oven as it hung higher. They'd listen for water, and broke beneath shade and on grassy riverbanks.

Spring must've been generous with rain, the trail flush with fresh water. He listened for frogs to guide him to the likes of a lake to make his way over and forage, or test his luck and finally prove to Yunho that he could, in fact, catch small game.

When the croaking got close and the screech of cicadas got sharper, he pulled back a branch and nearly jumped back at the sight of the man floating nude on his back, sunkissed and peaceful. He turned his head toward Mingi, a mole beneath his eye and a smile like persistent mischief.

Mingi stayed still, waiting for him to speak. He held, realizing he'd been nearly hiding behind it in the presence of a nude and unarmed man. "Hello," he greeted both to be friendly and to pretend he wasn't wary. The smile grew, showing teeth. Mingi ducked his head in apology. "I'm sorry for interrupting your swim. I'll go now."

He excused himself, letting the branch snap back as he returned to the woods. Now the frogs and cicadas had him feeling antsy, making his way back to the party and finding Yunho wandering as well.

"Yunho," he called out, just louder than a whisper to get his attention. Mingi was already waving Yunho to follow before he even looked over. He caught up, and he leaned in close, gesturing to the direction of the lake. "There's a man swimming over there. Stay quiet."

He recognized the branch he clung to in paltry defense when he first saw the stranger and pulled it back only a bit to peek over it, finding the lake was vacant. After Yunho looked at him cock-eyed, Mingi hung his head. "He must've left."

The look never left his face, but he kept his voice light with humor. "I think the heat may be getting to you, dear friend."

"He was right here." Mingi double and triple checked, looking over after every couple of words in case the stranger resurfaced. "He was on his back and he smiled at me, it's been only a few minutes. You really haven't seen anyone else around here?"

Yunho looked to the lake for a moment himself, then put the back of his hand to Mingi's forehead. "You're awfully warm, and sweating like crazy. Let's get you back and get the good doctor to take a look at you."

There was no winning. Arguing made him look hysteric and superstitious. Agreeing made him look hysteric and superstitious. He let himself be led away, arm in arm as if Yunho thought Mingi would keel over any moment. He seated him by the shade of the wagon, pulling off his hat. He soaked a cloth with cool water that he dabbed on Mingi's forehead.

He drank from his canteen, thought of pushing the insistent hand off but he liked being fussed over by Yunho too much to give it more than a passing thought.

When Jongho and Seonghwa returned with their catches, the doctor knelt by Mingi and checked him over.

"He's been burning up, Doctor." Yunho pulled back on the cloth so Seonghwa could feel for himself.

He did, a hand to Mingi's forehead and a worrisome hum. "Do you feel unwell, Mingi?"

"Hot," Mingi admitted.

"Of course." He had Mingi drink a little more. "Rest for the remainder of the day." In his soft touch, he pushed the sweat-matted hair back. "When the sun goes down a bit, why don't you take a dip? It'll cool you off."

He waited around, feeling dull and useless with the commotion around him, sitting in the shade the wagon provided and reading his copy of the Bible while he waited for one of them to sit beside him and pass the time with a little company and conversation. Yunho, more often than not, with Jongho and Seonghwa finding shared projects to occupy themselves with.

Finally, the sun wasn't so bothersome, a speck on the horizon sinking, and he made it out to the very lake he'd seen the man, wary in case he wasn't alone. He stripped out of his clothing, leaving it suspended on the branch he'd grown so acquainted with and stepped into the cool water.

It was a relief, feeling the layer of sweat come off as a cool shock to his hot body. He waded out a little deeper, waist high and bent low to splash water into his face. Lakeweed was persistent and thick, tugging at his ankles and brushing his hips with every step in. But the lakeweed did something it oughtn't. It pinched his hip, and then he froze and felt it wasn't lakeweed at all, but five fingers on a hand to either side of him, holding him and tickling his sides.

He turned, looked behind him, and not only was there nothing, but the feeling disappeared. He swiped at the air, dragged his fingers over the surface of the water first before submerging his hand. As he did, he felt it grabbed snugly, and it pulled him down and in. He took water into his lungs in a scream he'd made beneath. As he resurfaced, he coughed and heard that giggling yet again. This time, he knew it wasn't any bird.

He ran out of the water, big steps to clear as much ground as possible to get him out. Rather than drying off, he shook the water from himself and dressed while still wet, running out to join the others again 

"That was quick," he was greeted as he sat beside Yunho, getting in close in case something tried to reach for him again.

"The water was too cold," Mingi lied, though pretended to shiver as an excuse to move in closer, where Yunho sighed and lifted his arm to let him lean in. He recognized that look, the one when he knew he was lying, but he didn't challenge Mingi on it, instead brought his hand up to his neck in a supportive squeeze, where fear had sapped him exhausted, falling asleep where he sat.

When Mingi awoke, he was stirred by whispers, finding himself laid down alone on canvas. He opened his eyes, saw the three on the other side of the fire, speaking hushed, but clear enough to be heard.

"I think he's unwell," Yunho sent a long glance his way before turning to Seonghwa, luckily Mingi had stayed so still that he didn't notice he was awake. "You think it's a fever?"

"May very well be, but it's difficult to tell what's a fever and what's not in this heat. Have you known him to be sickly?"

"Never, but he's always been superstitious."

"Well, there's always the possibility of heat sickness Or," though Seonghwa paused.

"Or what, Doctor?"

"It could be his mind."

Yunho laughed at that, incredulous. "He's not deranged."

"There are some who live well in all matters of life and can overcome their delusions. He's been fortunate to live well enough where it's never been a problem before. No doubt this entire expedition is a shock to someone with a constitution that's unaccustomed."

"So you're saying stress brought this out in him?"

"My medical books are at the bottom of a chest somewhere in the wagon, so I can't be sure without consulting a reference."

"I can look through yours tomorrow, Seonghwa," Jongho offered.

Seonghwa nodded at Jongho. "I'll help you."

"What about a cure?" Yunho pressed.

"For hysteria? If only. If you're sure he's never shown signs of madness before, rest assured that this is likely temporary. I do recommend rationing him a little more food as hunger will not help any hysteria."

There was a silence, as if waiting on Jongho to weigh in. "A little more for a week. I don't want you two pretending you're mad just to get a little more meat, do you hear me?"

Both Seonghwa and Yunho nodded.

Mingi didn't know what madness felt like, but he certainly didn't feel mad. After their conversation, he found himself praying, hoping for the answer to be known to him if what he saw was real or creations of a sick mind.

Some time after the conversation had ended, he pretended to stir. Yunho stood to greet him, taking him by hand to lead him to the fire, where he was set up with extra meat and some dried fruit. He ate quietly, not daring to give an inkling that he knew more than he let on.

-

After a morning's breakfast of hardtack porridge flavored with pork fat and salt, passing by a bush with berries that were fat with juice stirred a longing in him, a stare so blatant that Jongho caught it and shook him from his wistfulness. "You'd wish you were dead if you ate even one of those."

"What would they do?"

"Let me just say that you'd tear from the inside out with your body trying to rid of the toxins.”

Mingi was to accompany the others on their tasks for a time, phrased brightly as an extra hand needed. Jongho brought him out shooting after noticing the patterns of ducks in flight, following him out to a grassy plain to await the next flock.

Jongho squatted in wait, leaning on the butt of his rifle, glancing up periodically as he turned to Mingi. "You've lived in the city your whole life, haven’t you?”

"I did."

"That makes you the only one among us." Mingi thought them as mocking words, so he kept quiet, but then, "I don't mean anything by it. I'm just curious. It’s a different world as far as I’m concerned.”

"Well, do you have questions?”

Jongho hummed. "What was your childhood like?"

"I am, was,” he corrected himself “-close to my mother. I'm the youngest, and my older brother was very independent whereas I, by her admission, was a needy child."

As Jongho listened, he nodded for Mingi to continue.

"But as much as she hollered, she always indulged me. Father criticized her for it, but as soon as his back was turned she'd give me pocket money for candy, or she'd carry me until her arms grew tired.” He sat flat on the ground to be level with his company. “I remember I'd fuss when she set me down, so she learned to shuffle around the house with me clinging to her legs until I got too big."

Jongho uttered a laugh. "I can picture it. And where would you go, what did you do to pass the time?"

"Bakeries.” If he closed his eyes, it was almost as if he could smell the fresh bread and see his and his brother's faces press flushed to glass display cases seeing all manners of pastries. "And parks. We’d spend all day out there, shooting marbles. Or a few times per year, there’d be exhibitions and carnivals.”

"I heard often of carnivals. I've only stepped briefly in cities, never long enough to see a carnival." Jongho stopped, and held a hand up for a moment to keep things hush. He cupped it around his ear to listen out for something Mingi didn’t quite have the ear for, then shook his head and continued, "And how did you meet Yunho?"

"He joined our seminary. I was, what, sixteen? Maybe fifteen. We were both tall, the tallest in class. And I thought, I wanted to be friends with someone as tall as me. It’s the kind of simple thought people have about another at that age. To win his favor, I gave him a piece of candy.” That memory was still so fresh, the nerves on tapping Yunho’s shoulder behind the back of their teacher, looked at solely for the first time with those big, friendly eyes that greeted him like a friend despite making his acquaintance for all of two seconds before Mingi placed the offering on his desk with a hopeful smile.

“After class, he told me he never had candy like that before, that his mother made it a different kind of way, and we walked to my home together, he stayed at the seminary at the time. We skipped my home entirely to talk all afternoon, then all evening talking about all kinds of things. I remember when I finally got home, it was past curfew and my father was furious.” Mingi laughed. “Eventually, once he met Yunho, he stopped huffing about me missing curfew every night.”

“So you two were always inseparable?”

“Kind of like you and the doctor appear, some people you just get along with from the beginning.”

Jongho’s brows raised sharply. “I suppose that’s right. I guess you could say Seonghwa has that way about him, that kind of affability.”

When did they become so close that ‘the doctor’ became ‘Seonghwa’, Mingi wondered.

Maybe he wasn’t the sentimental type, because Jongho changed course in the conversation. "And what are your plans when you get out there? There’s almost nothing, you know."

"Build a church, of course, and a community of good, God-loving people. I know it’ll be slow going, but good things are built over time.”

Jongho appeared to half listen by the end, standing up suddenly and cocking his rifle. Sure enough, overhead just over the horizon-line made by forest, a flock of ducks flew in the shape of an arrowhead. He watched Jongho close one eye as he aimed and took the shot in one, a duck spiraling down out of the sky. They ran to where it dropped.

It was gone by the time it fell, it lay unmoving. It was a chubby white duck, an adorable creature flush with fat that met a pitiable end. Although unsure why he felt so inclined, he breathed a quiet prayer for its soul before wrapping it in the sling given to him to carry game.

On the walk back to camp, Mingi made conversation for a change. “You never told me about your childhood.”

"My father was a guide. I became a guide," Jongho said. “Imagine most of what I do now, but yay high.” He brought his hand down to the height of his thigh. “Had to learn pretty early in case something happened to him while we were on an expedition.”

"May I ask where he is now?"

"Returned to Earth after living off of Her fruit for so long. Just an unexpected bout of illness."

"I'm sorry, may God have mercy on his soul."

He slung his rifle around back and searched his pockets for a beaten wooden pipe and a tin of tobacco. "Nothing to be sorry for." He pressed it down, offered some to Mingi who shook his head. "Oh, come on. It’s good for stress.”

"I thank you, but I'm fine."

When he lit it, he blew smoke out slowly. “I’ve been wondering about that.”

Mingi didn't press back, kept quiet on that matter. He knew he couldn’t win on that front. He looked ahead, saw something flesh-colored out of his periphery and turned. In the bushes was a face, a different man from before with a sharp nose that sloped at the end, though just as youthful and beautiful.

Jongho caught his stare and followed it, though the face ducked into the bushes when he looked for himself. "Everything alright?"

"A squirrel,” Mingi said. “With one eye,” he added, hoping it lent him credence.

Jongho said nothing, only blew smoke from his pipe.

-

When he was alone, he heard laughter like the summer breeze, or the slap of skin on skin like twigs snapping under his feet as he ran. Sometimes it was talking, distant and muffled from the voices of strangers where none of the light of recognition was stoked.

Maybe it was madness.

When he stepped at the foot of water, he saw faces reflected as if they were behind him, but nothing when he turned. He saw blurs of flesh mirrored in tarnished tin flatware. He heard breaths and groans carried by wind and soft sighs blown into his ear. He recited prayers to himself beneath his breath, or whistled tunes loudly to drown out the noises, but they seemed to grow louder in response as if mocking him for trying.

He was left alone at camp that afternoon as the sun beat down harsher than most days, the lot worried about his summer sickness and urging him to rest and drink water. He’d only worried them more when he outright begged to join them.

Sweat gathered so heavy on his brow that it dripped down. The laughter grew louder, the voices cacophonous and close, and he pulled his knees to his chest, hugged them tight and felt his breathing thinned by fear. He missed the city. He missed the seminary. He missed his mother.

"Mingi." Then silence followed, the world stopped for a moment. He felt a presence above him and looked up to the deep voice that called his name. He'd never seen this one before, large, patient eyes, nude like the other had been.

He outstretched his hand toward him, but Mingi shook his head. The man merely nodded, sitting before him and keeping him company. Even though he knew this was the product of his madness he enjoyed the silence and reprieve it brought him all the same.

He lost track of the time, or never had it to begin with. Afternoon turned to dusk. “Your friend is coming.” The stranger nodded suddenly toward the brush, prompting Mingi to look behind and see Yunho come through with an armful of firewood. He snapped his head forward again, finding the man disappeared.

Mingi knew what he must've looked like, knew the moment Yunho knelt beside him and cradled his head, pulling him into his neck where the comfort felt familiar, felt reminiscent of home and he was moved to tears with the sudden warmth it evoked. Yunho placed a soft kiss on his temple, gentle and humorous words of, “I’ve never seen you cry before.”

It brought levity, a laugh through despaired, panicked breaths like breathing through a tube. "Please, Yunho. There was someone here. He stayed with me until you came. Please believe me."

Yunho stayed silent. He never wanted to lie to Mingi, but the brows drawn in concern bore the truth. Instead of answering, Yunho pulled him tighter. In his disappointment, he still had the presence of mind to notice Yunho was notably hot to the touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only took a goddamn year to live up to my namesake. gonna be frank and say more happens in the second chapter


	2. Forward Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> purposefully vague, but heavy themes ahead.

The rationing returned to its previous portions, and like before Mingi felt gnawing hunger. The duck, in its sacrifice, provided fat dripped onto open flame that stoked memories of holiday meals at the seminary, but the fat was all that remained, used to flavor porridges, rice and stocks made with the bones of lean and feeble prey animals. It was inevitable that his trousers loosened, even Yunho looked slimmer in his clothes and had a sharpness to cheeks that were once soft with a sweets habit.

It was well past sundown when he was roused from sleep by a hand brushing his shoulder and an urgent whisper of his name. Upon opening his eyes, Yunho whispered a grave, “I want to talk to you,” that worried off his sleepiness. He was helped to his feet, led by a hand on his wrist, away from the others and when a satisfactory distance to talk openly, Yunho started with, “What do they look like?”

“What?"

“What do they look like, the men that you see?"

“There are four of them. Or at least, that’s all I’ve seen. It’s the same four.” Mingi closed his eyes, recalling. “One, the one that sat with me and spoke to me, he has big eyes and a deep voice. There’s one, he has a sharp, sloped nose. One resembles a cat, his gaze. Then there's one-”

“With a mole?

Mingi looked at Yunho for a moment, then nodded. “Right beneath his eye. You saw one of them.”

“I think I did," Yunho said on an exhale.

At first, he felt relieved to not be the only one seeing them, but with terror, that meant their delusion was shared. Or worse, it wasn’t a delusion at all. “How did you see him?”

"I was trying to sleep. He looked at me from the trees. He winked." Yunho sounded so shaken recalling it, leaning forward to squeeze Mingi's arms. “I’m so sorry that I doubted you.”

“It’s okay, I would’ve thought the same.” The air of remorse brought them into a hug, though comfort seemed distant at the moment. “Do you think they’re demons?”

“I don’t know.” Yunho ran his hand down the back of Mingi’s head, pulling back to meet his eye. “Have they tried to hurt you?”

“I’m not sure. The way they’ve touched me or grabbed me has felt playful.”

Yunho released him, beginning to walk back. “I’ll tell the others come dawn. I’ll ask if they’ve seen anything.”

Come morning, Mingi chose to sit out the conversation while Yunho convinced them. He dawdled by a brook, finding the cat-like one leaning against a tree, the one with the big eyes that stayed with him now laying his head in the other's lap. The former smiled, the latter did not, though with no hard expression, merely watching openly as Mingi passed through.

Mingi didn’t know whether to speak to them, to acknowledge them, to even make eye contact longer than it took to recognize where they rested. Instead, he skipped rocks on the water and waited a time. Looked over, where they watched, the one laying on the other’s lap having his hair stroked. Despite his wariness, he thought how nice that must’ve felt. They had an affection about them that confused Mingi. Maybe cherubs, thought not cherubic, but they were always nude and appeared with a bright youthfulness that reminded him of the angels.

Yunho asked for about fifteen minutes, Mingi felt he timed it well enough and returned to camp to see Jongho and Seonghwa scrutinizing the food supply. “We’ll have to boil the water,” Jongho said to no one in particular. “I’m not sure if I’m more concerned with the meat or the grain.”

“What exactly are you looking for?” Mingi asked, coming upon Jongho breaking up hardtack with the butt of his axe.

“Spores. Bugs. Discoloration. Anything that tells me we shouldn’t be putting this in ourselves.” He picked up a broken piece, face soured when he looked in and presented it to the others. “Weevils.”

Seonghwa sliced clean through the casing of the cured meat, revealing the center to be browned with a deep discoloration. Even the rice wasn’t spared, nor the oats, finding weevils and maggots at the bottom of their stores.

“We’ve been eating this shit for two goddamn months, and only God knows how long it’s been bad for.” When both Mingi and Yunho flinched at the words, Jongho sat on the ground, removed his hat to run his hands through his hair and looked up at both of them after shaking his head. “I apologize for the language."

Seonghwa knelt behind him, digging thumbs into his shoulders as Jongho pulled his flask from his pocket early that day. He took a pull, offered it to Seonghwa who accepted a drink for himself.

Once they'd taken time to mourn their provisions, a half day was taken to salvage what they could manage. They lost half their supply in only an hour of rummaging.

Needing to boil their water meant fetching it in batches, and a little extra with Jongho taking special interest in the oxen lately. Mingi was sent off to the river with a bucket. Submerged and filling, he looked up when the color of flesh amidst greenery appeared at the top of his vision. This one had the sharp nose and, upon a closer look, rather long lashes. Like all the others, he was nude. He sat on the edge of the bank, ankles dipped and legs spread. His anatomy certainly didn’t indicate he was any different from a human, though he was unabashed about his nakedness. He smiled when Mingi’s eyes fell, leading him to believe there was more going on than indifference.

His foot kicked, dipping in and out of the water and causing ripples. He watched so openly that he was unsure whether he was even terrified anymore, but the man pushed himself off of the bank and waded toward him.

As he approached, Mingi stepped back, then another forward, matching every step taken. He bumped something behind him, arms wrapping around him from the back. He screamed, startled by arms around his waist.

They disappeared with a blink, but he was still so shaken he stumbled on wet leaves and the bucket tumbled, emptying itself out and rolling toward the edge of the water. He feared going near it, especially hearing twigs snapping and leaves rustling, but he heard the call of his name on Yunho's mouth and turned to find his friend running toward him, out of breath and nearly doubled over in his haste.

"Two of them," Mingi said and under Yunho's watchful eye he grabbed the bucket and filled it again. "One was behind me. He startled me."

Yunho was quiet, and as the bucket refilled he caught him looking high up into the trees. Mingi followed his gaze, seeing the two of them sitting on branches and looking down.

They were still new to Yunho, and his fingers curled and uncurled as he fretted. Mingi held out the bucket by the handle, prompting him to hold it jointly on their walk back to keep his hand occupied.

-

Seonghwa was the next to see one of the four, having grabbed Jongho's flask right off of him without so much as preamble as soon as he'd returned. After a gulp, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I was alone here, chopping the dried fennel as he came up to me."

"What did he look like?" Mingi asked.

"He had a thin smile."

"Cat-like?"

"I suppose," Seonghwa nodded. "And I knew I'd see something eventually, so I acknowledged him, I remained calm. He stood over me, bent over, looked to either side of me." Seonghwa touched his cheekbone. "He kissed me on the cheek, and before I could even react, he was gone."

Jongho listened as he tended to the oxen, kneeling beside a small water trough he poured for them earlier that afternoon. He returned to sit with the group after examining it for a time. Instead of giving the flask back, Seonghwa held it and tipped it into Jongho's mouth for a small sip. He swallowed, smacked his lips and called attention with a flourish of an arm that suggested he'd already been drunk. "Not to alarm you all further, but I suspect one of the oxen has fallen ill."

Both Yunho and Mingi turned their heads, though unsure what to look for, Yunho asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Seonghwa pointed it out yesterday, that it's struggling to keep upright and move forward. It hardly drinks anything we give it, and hasn't grazed in a few days. We'll have to stop more often so it can rest until we make it to a township where we can purchase another one."

Sparse travel meant hours of dawdling, where tasks were cleared long before the end to their days and all that left was time to waste. That’s how Mingi and Yunho found themselves in the heavy woods, in a game of hide and seek after they quickly grew bored of reading.

Mingi rounded a tree, finding the apparition with the mole beneath his eye hiding. He snickered upon being caught and disappeared before his very eyes. Yunho hollered suddenly and Mingi followed the sound, finding him laid out behind a fallen tree trunk, being straddled by the one with the big eyes who also disappeared once caught.

"It's not fair if you know where we are,” Mingi said aloud, directed at whomever was listening.

Leaves rustled, the one with the mole waving at him before ducking behind a tree. Seeing Yunho more scared for a change brought a resolve to Mingi, he wanted one of them to be strong in the moment. He offered a hand, helping Yunho to his feet. “Are you alright?”

“Just frightened.” Yunho brushed off his clothing.

"Give me a moment," Mingi said and gave chase to the one who dipped behind the trees, ignoring Yunho's pleading for him not to.

A Mingi dove behind the trees and threw his arms around the apparition to capture him, the embrace returned along with a quick kiss on the brow and a chirp of laughter before disappearing. Mingi’s arms closed around nothing. The laughter continued from above, and Mingi saw him seated on a branch, legs swinging just out of reach. "I'm Wooyoung."

"Your name?"

Wooyoung nodded and disappeared again just as Yunho caught up to him. "I really don't feel good about this, Mingi. Let's go back."

On their return, Jongho greeted them. "I think I saw one of them. He watched me tend to the oxen. He just stayed there."

"I think they're real," Mingi said. That earned looks, so he elaborated. "It may very well be that we're somehow sharing a delusion, but they're corporeal. They talk. This is the second one that's spoken to me."

"The one with the mole beneath his eye," Yunho supported. "I was there. I didn't hear him speak, but I heard him laugh."

Real or not, it didn't bring any comfort. Mingi had simply been the most used to them, and while their presence and the purpose behind it prompted many questions, he no longer feared them, at least. It felt good speaking as the authority on something for a change, comparing notes with his party on what they'd seen.

-

Staying in one place for too long was not only a detriment to the pace of their expedition, but too much commotion in one place for too long meant animals steered clear. Less meat meant more meager rationing. They'd run through most of their fat provisions along with the grain, leaving daily meals of overused marrow to flavor their stock and rabbit, which when boiled, tasted only a little more than flavorless.

Long after their bodies adjusted, it seemed they had to make further sacrifices. The gnaw of hunger was continuous, leading to what felt like a paradoxical and persistent nausea in want of something more substantial. It would’ve been infuriating had they had the energy to feel infuriated.

Extreme heat exacerbated the problem, but irritability was to be expected and immediately dismissed in their empathy. It was awful, but nothing like the sick ox falling where it stood. Alive, but barely. Mingi and Yunho recited prayers when Jongho put it out of its misery.

Now they were permanently slowed with halved progress to not overexert the one. Facing winter was a guarantee, a promise of despair as the days of Summer wound down and autumn crept closer.

Every day, it felt like Mingi had to tighten his trousers a little tighter. Features once soft had become sharpened by weight loss. Those sharpened features turned gaunt. Even laying to rest, his hip bones and knees dug into his skin, feeling prominent.

In the midst of his day's task of skinning a rabbit, even the generous pulls from his canteen did nothing to stave the faint feeling and the dizzying blur of his surroundings when he so much as turned his head. Like a tunnel collapsing in on itself, black filled his vision.

He awoke with his head in the lap of one of them, the one with the long lashes and the sharp nose. Mingi stared at him from upside down, holding a bunch of wild berries that stained his fingers with their deep-red juice. "Can I ask your name?"

"Hongjoong." He plucked a berry off its stem and squeezed the juice onto Mingi's mouth, as if painting. He pushed one through his closed mouth, patient until Mingi parted his lips and let the fruit be placed ont his tongue.

They reminded Mingi of his favorite hard candies, the tart and sweet fruit-flavored ones he used to court Yunho's friendship, popping them into their mouths in secret during class, where he'd duck his head and discreetly lick the sugar that rubbed off onto his fingers. As if reading his mind, Hongjoong pushed his fingers into his open mouth and Mingi licked off the juice, sucking off the sweetness until cleaned. Only then were the fingers withdrawn and he leaned down to lick the juice off of Mingi's mouth.

Mingi thought this was strange, but no stranger than these apparitions had been. He knew they were corporeal, but facing it so directly, heat of the mouth and breath on his face, overwhelmed him. Often one would disappear by then, but this one lingered with slow swipes of the tongue over his lips. When the lips pressed down, Mingi realized it was a kiss. He knew it was odd for a man to kiss another man in such a way, but he wasn't sure if the same applied to an apparition. He felt strangely comforted by the mouth settled and firm on his, still sweetened from the juice.

On another slip of the tongue, he wasn't quite sure why this kiss from a man made his stomach feel so wound up. Though before he could examine the feeling, his stomach seized. The mouth pulled off his and left a kiss of parting on his forehead. He was gently laid down, but he passed out before his head met grass.

He dipped in and out of consciousness, found he'd crawled lakeside to suck water directly into his mouth, his canteen emptied. If he was awake long enough, he felt absurdly warm and tore his clothing off one by one to feel more air on his burning skin.

Another dip, and when he opened his eyes again, his head was once again cradled on a naked thigh, with fingers running softly down his bare chest and stomach. Another blackout, and when he awoke again he retched directly into the lake, only present enough to feel the pain of terrible convulsions and his throat and stomach on fire.

He heard noises, the noises of the men in his party calling his name, speaking to him and he responded in nonsense if he was aware long enough to do so between blackouts. He remembered a lot of Seonghwa knelt and seated beside him, patient with him to get him to ingest water. He remembered spitting it up just as often. Yunho was whispering something, likely praying, but the words sounded muffled and meaningless in the space his mind dwelled.

At one point he was bundled yet cold despite the heat. Pain was a shroud that enveloped every part of him. In dips, somewhere past the point of consciousness, but not a dream, he heard names and saw faces, and while his mind was too frazzled to make sense of the words, he learned the last two. The one with the large eyes named Yeosang, and the catlike one named San. It felt like an introduction of sorts.

In consciousness, Yunho prayed aloud beside him, feeling the heat of his hand held between clasped ones, the only other sensation he could register amidst the ceaseless aching.

For some time, nothing, not even conscious thought. Not even dreams, where Mingi slipped into being a non-entity. Time didn't exist there, it could have been seconds, it could have been eternities, but brightness followed. It was the most conscious he’d been, sitting up against the trunk of a tree and watching the four apparitions entwined together, with Hongjoong sat up, Wooyoung on his lap, tracing lines into his stomach. San seated up beside Hongjoong, his weight leaned on the man and he pressed in to kiss him on the mouth, then behind the ear, then the neck.

Similarly, Yeosang had laid on his lap, shifted up to hold Wooyoung. All were aware of Mingi, though only Yeosang broke away, pushing himself up to stand and walk over, to where he extended a hand.

And Mingi longed for it, the comfort, the warmth of the touch and the promise of brightness beyond black infinity. Falling in and out of consciousness for so long was so lonely. And there was love there, between the four of them, one he wasn’t sure he fully understood, but he longed for it all the same, longed to learn and be a part. He knew that was what Yeosang offered with his outstretched hand. 

But on the other side, his hand was already taken, clutched by both of Yunho's. He shook his head, looking Yeosang in his large eyes. Not without Yunho.

Consciousness returned like the release of a held breath, sharp and painful with a sudden, clear relief. He still shivered in abject heat, still ached down to his bones. He listened to the conversation he'd awoken to, still dreamlike in the haze of his breaking fever.

“You understand that every day we’re out here is a day closer to our end?” Whenever Jongho was angry, he had a tone like his patience was delicate and measured.

“He’s going to die if we keep moving,” Seonghwa sounded heavy, exhausted, as he did when he slept poorly. Mingi noticed he drank coffee now without so much as a grimace.

“We’re going to die if we don’t."

“Jongho," Yunho pleaded. "Think of your compassion."

Addressing Yunho came with a heavy unease. He gripped both of Yunho’s shoulders to have the man look him in the eye. “This is about survival.”

“Jongho, please.”

“I know I’m not going to be able to talk sense into you, you look at him with the stars in your eyes.” Jongho released him, stepping back to address both Yunho and Seonghwa. “There are three of us. We’ll bring it to a vote. Thumbs up if we wait, thumbs down if we move.”

Yunho raised a thumb to Jongho’s downturned one. Both had anticipated it, both immediately looking to Seonghwa in wait as he mulled.

“Seonghwa,” Jongho's voice had softened, a touch of warmth. “Whatever your vote, know I’ll stand behind you.”

Seonghwa nodded, extended his hand in a thumbs up and Yunho let out a sharp breath, one of relief, one where Mingi heard the smile and hopefulness in along with the whisper of an, "amen."

“Very well. We’ll wait.”

He slept, and when he awoke he was able to sit up with the help of the wagon supporting him. He was wracked with pain, but it was manageable. He was the first to wake that morning, just before daybreak. 

Jongho was the first to stir, often waking with the sun. He looked at Mingi for a time, blinking heavily as if his eyes deceived him. “How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better." He tried to imbue it with humor, but his throat still felt raw and sounded like wheels on gravel.

Jongho reached into the wagon, grabbing a bowl and a ladle to pour in what remained of another brothy soup suspended over a dead fire. He set it down by Mingi. “Here. It’s been days since you’ve eaten.”

Mingi sipped it, embittered by bile aside from its usual flavorlessness. Jongho helped him drink from his canteen to wash the worst of it down. 

“I’ll wake Seonghwa.” He stirred the doctor awake by gently moving his shoulder and Mingi noticed something, Seonghwa clutching Jongho’s forearm, rubbing up and down the length of it. “Mingi’s awake.”

Seonghwa shot up at that, looked sleepily to see Mingi up by the cart and greeted him with a bright smile that Mingi returned. His stirring caused Yunho's rousing, sitting up to see Mingi upright, staring at him for a time, himself. When Mingi smiled at him, he rushed over beside him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alive.”

“Thank the Lord. I was so worried."

Mingi pat the space beside him. "Sit down with me for a while." And when Yunho sat beside him, Mingi laid his head on his shoulder.

-

Mingi was sure it was guilt when Jongho became rather quiet around him, though he'd already forgiven him. Time would do the rest.

He ate steadily, able to keep it down now, though he never regained the appetite he lost. He gained his strength back and grew more lively day by day, though that vigor never fully restored itself as if a piece of him had been left behind.

He'd noticed since then, the others had gone pallid and sallow, sunken cheeks from hunger and exhaustion. He caught his reflection in water looking much the same, if not worse after his bout with illness.

As he splashed water onto his face, he caught the soft breaths and slapping sounds not too far off. He’d been wanting to speak to them so he followed the sound. He was led to a grassy clearing with Wooyoung laying on his back and San sitting up on his knees. Wooyoung's hands held the other's forearms. As he looked, he noticed Wooyoung was hard, his cock thrust up into San.

Of course he knew what intercourse was and, viscerally, he recognized it occurring between the two of them, but it was with the deep and general misunderstanding of how two men could possibly engage. Both looked at him, smiled, and San rocked his hips and moaned out loud.

Mingi’s insides felt coiled all of a sudden, a kind of tightness that seemed to leap up to his throat when watching the curve of San's back, or the muscles in his thighs and calves flex beneath the skin.

He left when Wooyoung made a sharp intake while looking right at him, unsure about the warmth that settled in his belly as he watched.

He found where Yunho sat, sanding down the splintered wood of one of their spoons. He was greeted with a nod as he sat by.

“Can two men fornicate?” Of course, it was an absurd question. He knew, theoretically, yes. He also knew exactly what he saw.

Yunho’s hand slipped, catching his palm in a slide up on the roughed up wood, grimacing as the pain hit. He checked his hand for lacerations, but no blood, so he shook it out. “Come again?”

“Can two men fornicate?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I saw two of them. One with his,” Mingi gestured down toward his lower half. “Right in the other."

"It’s certainly possible, but it’s sodomy.” Of course Mingi knew that but in books and in class it was such an abstraction he thought it fantastical. That element was what he thought to attribute the pounding of his heart to. “So you saw-”

Mingi nodded when Yunho struggled to finish. “He was, well, it was like he was anchored down and he, I saw it so closely, he moved so it went in and out of him. And I saw it, swollen and red, and the other moaned like he was in pain, though he smiled. Both of them did, so I don't think he was in any pain at all." There was a weight to the conversation, unsure why when he was just recounting what he saw, but it sat heavy in him, the coils tightening. “And it looked," he breathed, unsure that he had the vocabulary to bring an end to that sentence.

When he turned, he saw Yunho’s ears had gone red. In the seminary there were some talks of girls and brothels, but many had taken celibacy very seriously, even in a denomination that allowed marriage. Mingi took a personal oath that he would never marry, and the few times he discussed it with Yunho, it was in brief and dispirited conversations as if he hadn't given it any thought.

“I’ve seen,” Yunho started, a voice laden by hesitance that called Mingi’s eyes. “Jongho and the doctor. When they drink together, they hold each other like lovers. Especially when you were ill, they turned to each other often. They thought I was asleep. I could hear them almost every night. I worry for their souls," Yunho continued after allowing a moment for Mingi to absorb his divulsion. "But, with how things have been, I can’t help but feel like they'll be forgiven."

“What makes you say that?”

“There’s a peace and understanding to them that they’ve developed with each other. I would think, well, I don’t know, but He wouldn’t allow that to happen if it didn’t need to.” Something wistful to Yunho’s stare, to his smile, extremely warm. “I’m sorry to lay this on you. I needed to talk to someone, but in just listening, I feel like I understand better.”

“Understand what?”

“I’ve been asking Him a lot, on why we’re suffering like this, on why we’re seeing things, on what His plan is. I've asked him why it’s us four, if it means anything. And with Jongho and the doctor, it’s like He led me to believe it was, that I,"

“That you what, Yunho?"

“After the other two had turned down the offer, I asked the Pastor to consider you.” Yunho said like an admission. “I didn’t ask, I begged him. He told me you weren’t ready, and I didn’t listen and convinced him. Then you were sick, I felt guilt like I was being punished for-” he stopped for a time, his words slowing before, “My own selfishness.”

"You're the reason why I'm here."

“I’m sorry." Yunho kept his stare down at his lap. "I’m sorry I brought you into this.”

“No, Yunho.” He grabbed his arm, hoping to bring the eyes up to him. "Don't apologize to me."

“I knew you’d say yes if you were offered. I knew it, so it’s my doing. I’m why you got sick. If anything happens to you, I’m culpable. I’ve been culpable.” Yunho was tearful with the admission, Mingi repeatedly shaking his head and insisting it was alright, pulling Yunho in for a change until he settled down, broad hand on his back squeezing, apology after apology muttered into his chest with Mingi following with endless assurances of forgiveness.

This went on until dark, where both were sufficiently exhausted and returned for their meager meal to promptly lay themselves down to sleep. Though when he thought himself worn down and his eyes closed, his mind remained active, playing back what he'd seen of the apparitions, then imagining the handsome doctor and their strong guide engaged similarly.

The heat in his stomach returned, but with nothing to distract himself he felt it pull lower yet until he began to swell and ache with desire. He was trained in staving it, his falters few and far between and followed by hours locked in prayer until he felt absolved.

He imagined Yunho's reddened ears, the wide-eyed interest he saw confiding in him. His body heated on the recent memory. He opened his eyes to Yunho's broad back, breathing steadily and deep in sleep.

He imagined how it would feel to be touched like he’d seen, remembering the pleasure on their faces and the breath let out by Wooyoung. He wasn’t sure if he wanted all of that for himself, but he wanted something like it.

He was startled by a hand falling down his side, turned his head partway, catching Wooyoung out of his periphery, pressed up into his neck. When Wooyoung breathed, it made the hair on the back of Mingi's neck stand. The hand came down over the front of his trousers, grasping him and pressing his mouth to the back of his neck.

Mingi breathed out, shaken, the feeling so intense. He’d never felt another hand on him before, never expected it to feel that much better than his own the few times he’d indulged. Every time he exhaled on the squeeze of the hand, he looked over to assure Yunho was still fast asleep.

He was brought off quickly. He bit down on the skin of the back of his hand to keep quiet, his trousers dirtied and Wooyoung disappearing as soon as the deed was done, leaving Mingi sated, calm and drifting.

-

The tail end of Summer was as good as autumn, a cold twinge to the air more days in the week than not. Minor cold brought an energy, sparked new life amidst dour, hungry misery. So even as they had to double knot twine to fasten their trousers and even as their hands scraped for every grain and bit of meat that clung to the sides of the bowls, it livened the atmosphere if only temporarily.

He and Yunho took to an open field to cloud gaze, lost in conversation about their past, avoiding that of the present and approaching tenuously the subject of their future to which Yunho landed a dig of, “Maybe we’ll make a minister of you yet.

Mingi laughed, grabbing Yunho by the front of his shirt to pretend to land a blow. Softly, he pressed fake one to his cheek, and Yunho retaliated by grabbing both of his arms and rolling him onto the grass, flat onto his back, sitting low on his stomach, legs tight to either side of him to keep him still. 

He thought little of it in the first breath, bringing arms up to Yunho’s hips to throw him off. In the second breath, though, he recognized the familiarity of the position. Yunho’s groin settled very nearly on his and his bottom pressed firmly down. Only clothing came between them, and if just a hand felt that overwhelming, he wondered what it would feel like to have Yunho rocking on him the way San rocked on Wooyoung.

He conceded, surrendering by raising both of his hands before his body got too warm. Yunho rolled off, pleased with his victory and a smile that wore his pride, although he didn't gloat aloud. 

Mingi didn’t care, he loved the look of that smile all the same.

They'd returned to Jongho with his flask out, kept uncapped because he kept going for pulls often while Seonghwa held him from behind, arm wrapped around his chest. “It’s alright. It’s gonna be alright."

Yunho and Mingi broke into a run at the sight. "What's the matter?" Yunho asked.

On meeting their eyes, both their expressions were grim. Seonghwa glanced at Jongho before speaking. “The ox passed."

"How? He was fine just this morning."

The most Seonghwa could offer was a shrug, concerned more with Jongho clinging to his arm.

Jongho and Seonghwa helped themselves to stores of whiskey as there was no means of carrying it all. Before dusk, they were laid out on canvas with Jongho hysteric in his drunkenness, soothed and cradled in Seonghwa's arms.

They slept like the dead when they drank themselves into a stupor. They hadn't even stirred as Mingi and Yunho set aside what they would carry on them in their rucksacks.

“They look like infants, don’t they?” Yunho said. “Peaceful like that.”

Mingi looked over, Jongho curled in on himself, Seonghwa tucked in his arms, face buried in his shoulder. “Like they’ve never known trouble.”

“What’ll you think will happen now?”

Mingi looked at him, reading the unease on Yunho’s face, wanting to soothe him but he hadn’t the words. "I'm not sure."

"You seem so calm,” an admiration to his voice, one Mingi noticed he’d been hearing more of lately.

Mingi secured his bag, checking its weight by slinging it onto his shoulder. He smiled at Yunho. "What could go wrong if we're together?"

And maybe he did have the words, as, at ease, Yunho smiled in return.

They stuffed their pockets full, filled rucksacks to the brim with clothing, cookware and what little was left of their food. Still, leaving everything behind was pitiable and they looked back on horseback, until the wagon was no longer in sight and all that was left was to look ahead.

It was a warmer day at the blossom of autumn, and as such a rainstorm blew through, leaving them pitching up canvas just before it started to pour, the four huddled close together until skies cleared and the air cooled enough to pull on the heavier clothing.

The rain never quite stopped, but it became manageable. When they stopped that night, they boiled down the bones of birds and rabbits hoping for a flavorful stock, Mingi stoking the flames every so often to keep it going with the wet wind, heavy with fog.

"I saw them embracing." Yunho had come up beside him. "When I was grabbing this water." He set down the bucket beside him. Mingi looked up at him, Yunho damp from light rain.

"Jongho and the doctor?"

Yunho shook his head. "The apparitions, it was just as you said."

Mingi hummed.

"They spoke to me."

"Oh?"

"They invited me to join, both of them." Yunho recounted such with a touch of marvel in his voice.

"And?"

"And, what?"

"And what'd you say?"

"I ran back here," Yunho said as if it were obvious.

Mingi didn’t know why he felt disappointed, though decided to divulge. "One came to me while the rest were sleeping. That was the night I first saw them. The one with the mole, Wooyoung, he grasped me."

Yunho's eyes looked down, then up again. "He grasped you?" Seeking clarification.

Mingi didn’t wish to say the word aloud, and so vaguely gripped the front of his trousers at the crotch seam. Yunho went red at the ears, and on seeing it Mingi lowered his eyes and twisted the ladle in the broth. "Was I there?"

Mingi nodded. "Your back was to me, I remember. But you slept like the dead that night, you didn't stir."

A moment, Mingi thought that the end to the conversation until a quieter, "How did it feel?"

The question had Mingi stop stirring, the warmth in his belly returning. "Well, it felt good. I've only ever felt my own hand before then."

"So have I."

That heavy feeling caused the conversation to fall quiet. Firelight brightened only their faces, cast shadows on all else as if it were just them, as if Jongho wasn't singing aloud while sharpening his axe, as if Seonghwa wasn't sewing the patches in their clothing beside him.

To fill that silence between them, Mingi started whistling along, and Yunho sang in and they gathered the lot for supper.

When the skies turned clear, the night turned cold. Even under the quilt, Mingi and Yunho kept close to keep warm and they’d fallen once the heat grew between them.

Though noise stirred him, sharp breaths, a small moan of a, "Seonghwa," and only by moonlight did he see the one in the other's embrace, arm moving beneath the quilt in a motion and location that was telltale. Jongho craned his head, mouth pressed flush to Seonghwa's, reminding Mingi of how Hongjoong kissed him, seeing the tips of tongues touched to each other’s.

He could tell Yunho was awake. He heard the breath beside him, heavy, but not with sleep, and he turned his head, looked at Yunho, reacting as if he had been caught when, really, they were both complicit in this, a shared secret they'd already known, but hearing it together made it all the more real.

It was too dark to see anything more than vague shapes, but he felt Yunho’s body grow warmer and Mingi felt warmer, himself, until the sounds quieted and were replaced by light snoring and Mingi fell asleep again.

-

A lot of time was spent looking for wild game as foraging proved more difficult with the change in seasons, developing a keen eye for tracks and droppings with Jongho’s expertise. The four of them split up to broaden the search. It brought Mingi out to an overgrown trail, where time had buried the wagon-worn roadway with leaves and grass. He followed, only knowing that if it led nowhere, he'd at least easily find his way back.

He found a tipped wagon, wood rotting and canvas tattered. He wondered how long it would be before their wagon looked like that as he approached, intended to see what was left behind. Rounding the corner, he found what was once a hand reached out, though stripped of flesh and muscle, the bones were scattered a bit, but the original shape not so disturbed that Mingi couldn't make out what part of the body it had been.

He took another step closer, the wrist, the arm, the skull, and when he started to overlook the spine, he noticed Yeosang kneeling beside the body like a shadow.

"This was you."

Yeosang raised the wrist. Though no longer tethered to anything, bones snapped from their joints and fell to the ground. He seemed to find mild amusement in that with the small pull of his smile.

Mingi sat cross-legged before him. “I have questions.”

"I'm sure you do." Yeosang matched the position.

"Hongjoong poisoned me."

"Is that a question or are you just telling me what you already know?"

He didn't expect the apparition to have an attitude, though dismissed the initial surprise. "You're killing us. You killed the oxen. You've contaminated our food supply."

“Mingi, are you going to ask me your questions?”

"I know you know what I'm thinking. I know I don't have to ask it. Seeing as you were in my shoes, I don’t appreciate you playing with me.”

Yeosang took a look at his Earthly remains, then Mingi. "They're pointless questions, you'll understand soon. I have nothing satisfactory to offer."

"But why am I alive?"

"Because you've made a choice." Yeosang let there be a moment, letting Mingi’s thoughts simmer. "You've made the choice to lead this time. That’s why, even though you’re ready, it’s because he’s not.”

Before he really internalized the meaning of the words, his eyes stung. It made him emotional in a way where he felt only on the cusp of understanding, like a catch that only narrowly missed his grasp and grazed the tips of his fingers. Though he didn't have the chance to ask Yeosang to explain.

"I know you're tired." He shifted closer, a hand on Mingi's arm, leaning in to kiss the corners of his misting eyes.

"I'm so tired," Mingi repeated as if prompted.

As he cried, Yeosang pulled him into his shoulder. "He's tired too. They all are. They'll be ready soon." Yeosang stroked his hair, mouth pressed below his eyes, soft on his cheeks, soft on his mouth, a brush of lips, nothing like the way Hongjoong kissed him. Mingi reached out in return, seeking the comfort and the soft mouth on his like a longtime lover, a shameless embrace of comfort with his touch until he cried every last tear and was laid down, sleeping suddenly.

Yunho found him, shaking him by the shoulder, panicked, perhaps not helped by the remains he found Mingi beside. When Mingi’s eyes opened, he breathed aloud, a clear sigh of relief. "What happened?"

He was held upright with a hand on his back and another on his jaw, thumb arched up to wipe the dampness from his cheeks. Mingi must not have been out for long.

Unsure how to answer with words, he threw his arms behind Yunho’s back, brought him down onto him and thought only of the comfort Yeosang had given him, thought of how he could share it and impart it to ease the haunted look. He pressed his mouth softly to Yunho’s, pulling back at the sudden jerk in his grasp. Mingi loosened his arms to let him get away if he so desired, but Yunho stayed put. He looked at him even and long with his lips parted and eyes wide and uncertain. Time boasted its own eternity then, though not with the threat of wounding his ego. Instead with its loneliness, loneliness in the meager distance between them, but even feeling the breath on his mouth wasn’t close enough.

Not until the tilt of Yunho’s head forward, all that was needed to bring their mouths together in a soft brush. The touch was so light, the only movement of lips from nervous breaths and hands both gripping his clothing and trembling on him, the heel of his palm on his back like a carriage on cobblestone.

He wished to speak to assure Yunho, but he would not pull his mouth off, could not pull his mouth off, and instead of reassurance in words, he pressed firmer to feel the shape of that mouth he was able to draw with eyes closed. That friendly mouth, pulled slack, and Mingi couldn't pretend he knew what he was doing but used what little he learned to press his tongue to the bottom lip and graze teeth. Another exhale, this one swallowed by Mingi's inhale. They matched in that way. They always did. Something too miraculous to be dismissed as coincidence like all other matters concerning them. 

Yunho's lips moved, finally, a hesitant touch of their tongues together. Mingi had felt warm, but now he felt hot. He thought of that touch on him, the touch of another's hand, and how Yunho wondered what that felt like. His clothing was loose, meaning a searching fumble to his hand to discover just how little he actually knew Yunho's body, just how much there was to learn. He found his cock swollen and reacting to a squeeze with another breath out that he breathed in.

Lips moved, not a kiss, but words against his mouth uttered in a sigh and whatever they were, Mingi preferred to feel them at the moment than hear them like he felt the drop of a hand, knuckles nudging his inner thighs and fingers extending to mirror the touch. Though not fully, not yet, just fingers feeling the length of him, shying at the twitch but renewed resolve in the form of fingers closing on him.

Yunho cried out, a whimper deep from the back of his throat, a seizing of his body with teeth pressing forward to Mingi's bottom lip, and an inhale, a remorseful tongue tracing the bitten path.

He felt semen soak through the fabric, wet satisfaction on his fingers. He made Yunho feel that way, and there was no small marvel in that large, heavy body made exhausted by him. And even though Yunho sighed like he was burdened, he laid on him, chest to chest, mouth falling to the corner of Mingi's and hand still searching to give the same feeling he'd received.

"I've always wanted," now words could be said, heard clearly, albeit labored from breaths like wind beating from all directions. "For a long time," interrupted again by a pursing of his lips on Mingi's jaw. "I've always wanted to hold you like this."

Words that poured oil to his fire, feeling himself spill out and Yunho, in all his inexperience, holding steadfast and looking awed as he brought Mingi off. His chest rose and fell on the other, stifling warmth, yet somehow he hadn’t grown weary of it. Too stricken for words, he kissed his brow and they laid until it felt like there was a world beyond them again.

Head resting on his collar, Yunho turned his head to look at Mingi, and Mingi to him. “When we first met, I thought you were an angel.”

Mingi laughed, bashful. "Me?"

“I'd just arrived in the city the night before. I was terrified I would seem like a bumpkin."

“You’d belong anywhere.”

Yunho lowered his head, laid on Mingi’s chest with a hand to squeeze Mingi’s arms. “Sometimes I still think you are one.”

Yunho had his back to the woods, but Mingi saw Yeosang and Wooyoung watching from behind tries, hand in hand. He looked down, pushed the fringe out of Yunho’s eyes so their gazes could meet uninterrupted. "Yunho, would you follow me?"

"Anywhere," Yunho answered without a moment's thought.

-

There was something liberating in leaning in, kissing Yunho’s mouth whenever he saw fit, whenever the desire struck him, like sleepy mornings where they greeted each other, or following a joke, where Yunho laughed his mouth stretched into something sweet and Mingi sought to sweeten it further.

It felt like they were being watched more often, and more closely, with the men in their party regarding the apparitions with dull recognition now that they’d grown used to them, but still that did little for the general unease that settled on the other three.

It was an ominous sign, of cool days begetting morning frost, where even with his hands between Yunho’s they were numbed. He’d gone to sleep one night, awoken to find himself standing, nude, himself. The apparitions were seated in a circle, a space open for him were he to join.

He felt alive. He felt warm, at odds with the reality of his situation.

They looked, and Mingi looked back. He sat, but on the edge outside of the circle, hugging his knees and waiting out the moments, listening to them talk amongst themselves and watching how they fell into each other with ease and affection.

He wanted to join, and he knew that space was left open for him, but he waited until he awoke on the ground with pain in his chest from rough compressions, Seonghwa knelt over him on one side, Yunho to the other praying in fast and frantic whispers. When Mingi sucked in that heaving breath, Yunho let out one of his own as if he hadn’t been breathing, himself.

Mingi was barely there, eyes strayed over to the three surrounding him, cold sinking into his bones, exhaustion and pain felt throughout him. Consciousness was a cruelty, but Yunho took his hand and squeezed the palm and some warmth returned from fondness.

“Your heartbeat got so faint.”

The days that followed were short, not only because the changing seasons snubbed light early, but cold and hunger had Mingi living meagerly both in thought and presence, save for short moments of reprieve when the sun was high and uncovered, or being held by Yunho. Though he too stopped feeling warm to the touch, himself.

They were beneath the canvas tent one night, the four of them, shivering with the soft snowfall outside, the first of the season. The tinder had all gone wet with the morning frost and even with their best efforts, they weren't able to start a fire. Mingi saw their blue lips, their sunken eyes, and he only waited. He thought of what was left of Yeosang’s Earthly body, how long it would be before he would become remains on the ground, without a face or a name. Yeosang was alone, reaching toward the wagon as if his final stretch before his body gave out in his fight. Maybe that’s why Mingi was given the privilege of insight, allowed to stay a little longer. He had no interest in fighting the inevitable, only moving forward together.

The apparitions appeared abruptly, palms up and outstretched in offering.

Seonghwa sat up, the first among them. It didn’t surprise Mingi, as perhaps he was the most astute of the lot and the most acquainted with death. He took the offered hand Hongjoong gave. As he was embraced by them, he was stripped of his clothing and his skin grew flush with color, filled out again like the day they first met and a smile like every pain and malady in his life was forgotten.

That was the push needed for understanding to dawn on Jongho. Seonghwa offered his hand to him, a smile to assure him. He breathed, the last breath he'd take, an exhale turned to fog in the cold air as he reached for Seonghwa’s hand and was pulled to his feet. Every step forward his skin brightened with the glow of summer sun.

Yunho clung to Mingi, holding him back. Mingi had little strength left, only enough to work his fingers into the hand fastened tight on his chest and pull. Not to pry it off, he no longer had the ability, but to pull to have Yunho’s fingers curl into his instead, as he pushed himself of the ground and stood slowly, prompting Yunho to his feet as well.

He looked behind him as Yunho tugged him back, meeting the uncertainty by squeezing the hand. “Follow me.” Yunho nodded with his wide-eyed and wary trust, and when he felt fingers tighten around his grasp, he took Yeosang’s offered hand and felt awash in warmth in vigor even beyond that of what his mortality afforded.

When he turned his head again, his gaze was met and a smile returned that mirrored both the elation and the nerves as they ran ahead to catch up with the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tune in for my typical content of, "san snorts the cum right out of jongho's dick"


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